


Suburbia

by gala_apples



Series: If Love is a Mixtape [4]
Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is not always what it seems like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> If Love is a Mixtape... then life is the tracks you listen to. (each story was written while listening to one song on repeat, for however long it took. In the case of side A track 5, that means a 3 minute song on repeat for about 6 hours. *head bash*)
> 
> Side A: Bobby  
> Track 4: Dropkick Murphys- Walk Away. No specific lyric, the entire song applies. [The lyrics](http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Walk-Away-lyrics-Dropkick-Murphys/BB3843621507B5CA48256D29001F6465)

Bobby sighs as he walks into the kitchen from the garage. It's always a relief to step through that threshold, to change from Professor Drake (Rob to his more liked students) to Bobby. He enjoys his work, but he enjoys his home more. He puts his keys down in the carved wooden bowl, noticing Marie's aren't there yet. It's odd, she's normally home first. 

The slam of the door rings through the first floor, noise overpowering the sound of machine gun-fire in the living room. He smiles as the game goes silent, and he hears the clatter of the controller falling on the glass coffee table. He has no idea how many times he and Marie have told Addison not to drop things onto the table, he's sure it numbers in the hundreds. Still, the concern for the glass fades as his son bounds into the room, socks causing him to slip a bit on the linoleum floor.

"Hey Dad! I did really great in math class today. My teacher, she's evil, we had this pop quiz. And I totally wasn't expecting it. No one was. But I got like seven questions out of ten right!" Another conversation they've had with him many times; he doesn't have to excel in the things that his parents enjoy. Another conversation he hasn't taken to heart at all, he still draws on the back of every homework sheet, still reports every good mark in mathematics. Bobby doesn't want or need Addison to be a clone of him, but it's nice to have a son you can relate to. Especially after all the hell they went through to get Marie pregnant without anyone actually touching her, it's nice to have a son that loves and worships his parents.

"That's a great thing to hear. Do you know what you did wrong on the ones you didn't get?" As he half-listens to Addison explaining the principles of fifth grade math, he drifts to what he's going to make for dinner. Marie isn't a terrible cook, but one can only have mac-n-cheese for so many dinners before getting ill.

***

They watch the news together every night. At ten pm every night they watch CNN to see if any mutant has done anything stupid lately. Marie and Bobby are both out to their collegues and friends, and though Bobby doesn't tell his students he knows it must get around campus. It would be hypocritical of them to advocate for change and freedom, and be too cowardly to declare themselves. After spending so many years at the Academy, it seems somehow disrespectful to not be proud of their powers.

The downside to being out is people tend to think with a group mentality. If Jane Doe blows up a building in Texas, Marie and Bobby can still feel the evil eye in Mississippi. For their safety, and the safety of their child, they need to know when something's going to get someone's hackles up. 

Tonight they are safe from recrimination from neighbours, CNN reporting no mutant terrorist activity. On the local news a house has burnt down, and for a second Bobby's heart soars. But it's an electrical fire, not an arson. He's not in the city. Every logical process in his brain tells him he should be happy. But to see him, just once more...

***

He wakes up to pain, horrid sucking pain. With pure primal instinct, he knows to jolt away, though it takes nearly all the strength left. He lays curled in a ball, rattling breath into his lungs, hissing it out. Controlling his breath is all the control he has right now, and though it's not a cure to the pain, it helps a little bit. Enough that he's able to supress his rage at her for this happening.

It's happened before. They share a bed, and like every couple have defined bed sides. Unlike every other couple, it's desperately important they keep to their sides of the bed. Sleeping under seperate blankets helps, but accidents happen. When they purchased the furniture for their home, niether was willing to conceed to the idea that two seperate beds would be needed. In sheer defiance of Rogue's power, they bought a single bed to share, trusting in blankets and pygamas and socks to keep them safe. It's hard to remember it was a joint decision though, when he's wracked with pain and all his wife can do is offer him a glass of water.

He expects the cool silk hand on his shoulder any moment, but doesn't get it. He knows something's amiss, but can't spare enough attention to care. She must have rolled closer to him in the night; all it would have taken was her bare face nestled against the nape of his neck. It fucking hurts, and he doesn't even have the reassurance of telling himself it won't happen again, like one would after surgery. He's going to be spending the rest of his life with her, and the chance that she will hurt him will never go away.

When he is finally able to get his twitching muscles under control, he rolls over. She isn't in her place on the bed, she's standing staring at him. Her arms are folded tightly against her chest, and when she sees he's looking back her stare turns into a glare.

"Are you okay?" She should be asking him that, but it's his duty as a husband to protect her. 

"Do you know what you were dreaming about?" she responds, voice taut.

"Uh?" This has happened before, Bobby dreaming about a beautiful starlet and Rogue finding out. It vastly upsets her, she seems to think that his checking out other women takes something away from his love for her. He doesn't think it's fair, her getting angry. He can no more control his dreams than she can control her power. He knows the routine now; she'll rant and he'll apologise, and convince her that he does find her more attractive to anyone else. They'll have a hostile breakfast, she'll go to work, but by the time they both get home, she'll be happy again.

But everything changes with the next words she says. "You were dreaming about John. It was a dirty dream, Bobby. Do you like men? Is that why you're with me, so you don't have to have sex with a girl?"

His mind is a rat in a cage. He has no idea how to respond, can't tell her that her answer is 'sort of', can't explain that he always wanted to be normal, but he doesn't have the heart to keep it up much longer. He scrambles for a suitable answer, but the lengthening silence is enough of an answer for her.

"Get out of my bed," she hisses. He looks at her, and she takes a step forward, tugging off an elbow length glove. He knows what that means, his still aching muscles scream at him to avoid it at any cost. He inches away from her, falling off the bed in his haste.

"You're going to sleep on the couch tonight. You'll tell Addison you love him tomorrow morning, before he leaves for school. And you won't be here when he comes back. Or I will kill you, terrorist laws be damned." 

Bobby thrashes his way out of the blankets, needing to get out of the room where their marriage has just broken. Dreams aren't cheating, but she takes everything too seriously and he knows she'll do it. He struggles, panicking, needing the blankets to come off, he doesn't want to die-

His eyes jolt open and he curls in pain for the second time that night. Somewhere in the mansion Syrin is screaming, it's like a razor blade to his eardrums. He whimpers in relief when she stops, not caring if she's stopped because another army man has shot her with a tranquilizer. Blessed silence, and blankets are still wrapped around his legs.

It takes him a second to fully realise he's back at the academy. He looks across the room at John, the pyrokinetic is lying on his back, hands pressed tightly against his face. "Holy shit." His tone is bewildered and if Bobby recognises it correctly, anxious and near tears.

His headboard is pressed against the wall of the room. Through the wall he can hear someone sobbing, it has to be either Sam or Doug. Somewhere down the hall someone is screaming, high pitched hysterical screams again and again. They're nowhere near the physical intensity of Syrin's, but they hurt the heart to hear. Bobby wants to investigate both, see if he can help either student. But if he has gotten the tone right, then John needs help too. He knows better than to walk the few feet and ask if the teen needs a hug. John has never asked for coddling, never even seemed to want emotional contact. The best way for Bobby to be there for John is to stay on his bed and let John rant and rave and throw fire at objects in the room. 

He expects a long and angry rant to start at any moment. The briefness of John's question surprises him. "What the _fuck_ was that?" It's been only a minute, he hasn't had the time to plaster rage over his anxiety yet. He still sounds upset, and part of Bobby wishes he would just get mad already, because at least he knows how to deal with that.

"I think it's the new girl. I heard from Jubilee her powers are to create nightmares and hallucinations."

"Well, Christ." That sounds better, more like John. Bobby feels a wash of relief, but it's too soon. "I hope she learns control soon. God." That's not right. John should be threatening her life if he doesn't get a grip on her power, ranting on how dare people use their powers on him, not hoping anything.

He hazards a glance at John, the teen still has his fists pressed into his eyes. Bobby can't deal with an upset John, so he says nothing. The silence in the room grows louder somehow, but it gives him a chance to think. His nightmare, it's not what he would have expected to dream about. In a nutshell, the scariest dream he's supposedly ever had is about marrying Rogue, fantisizing about John, and having Rogue find out and nearly kill him. It's weird, it's certainly fucked up. But it's not upsetting, and he doesn't understand how everyone else in the mansion can be freaking out, and he's fine.

Then it hits him. The nightmare isn't about fantisizing about John, it's about choosing Rogue over John, and all the consquences that come with that. Suddenly, it's a lot worse. It's fucked up extrapolation, but who knows? It could be true. He could lose John, somehow, and be stuck in suburbia his whole life. Part of him wants that, but part finds the concept horrifying.

Every cell in his body needs to know what John dreamed about. Needs to know if John's scared about losing him, or if it's just him that's fucked up. But he can't ask, because he knows whatever has enough power to keep John in sad and scared mode isn't something John can ever talk about. Asking would drive a wedge between them, and Bobby can't do that, to either of them. The longer he has to think, the more his mind is whirlwinding inside his skull, the more he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with Rogue.

He can't, he _can't_ , he won't be stuck with a loving wife and an adorable child and an expensive car and a beautiful home and a good job and an empty soul. He just can't. So he kicks until the blankets unwind themselves, and gets up. With an odd desperation running through him, he crossed the room and sits on the end of John's bed.

It doesn't surprise him that he's sitting on clothes and what feels like a book; John was never one for tidiness and order. Before he can articulate the thoughts racing in his head, John takes his hands off his face. "What." It sounds harsh, Bobby's proximity spurring on the hate that creates safe walls for John. Undoubtedly if he had stayed in his own bed, John would still be upset and sad, not angry. 

He can't ask John anything, but he can share. People at the academy think Bobby's always giving, and John's always taking. They don't understand shit. John reciprocates in other ways, shows his affection when no one is looking. It's hard for John to do that, and Bobby would never hurt John by demanding it often. 

"I dreamed I lost you. And I need for that to not happen."

He angles himself on the bed so he can better look at John's face. It reveals nothing, perfect Friday night poker face. Still, Bobby can't leave it at that. People have believed for centuries that dreams can give messages and truths, if one actually takes the time to analyse them. Bobby's learned tonight what his worst case life scenario is, and he's going to make sure it never happens.

"I think I love you, man."

"I don't love you. I think I don't love anyone. I don't think I can. I'm permanently damaged, Bobby. I think I lost that part of me when I was so young I didn't even notice." 

If Bobby was ever going to ask John about his past, he'd do it now. John's walls are the closest to being down he's ever seen, and he knows he can probably penetrate. But he won't, because it would cause more pain than anything else.

"That doesn't matter. I have someone that loves me, and I don't want it. You're something I need, and that's more important then being loved." It's true, though it's something his subconscious would have never revealed if not for Dani. But when he looks at John, he doesn't believe him. John can love, he just needs to be loved first. And Bobby knows how to love.


End file.
